a single solitary curl
falls onto my face
one of many that cloud my head
a razor appears
and my curls
my delicate curls fall to the floor
and mix with the pool of tears
lying at my feet
i feel a strand of blood
trickle down the back of my neck
but no pain
what is a cut?
the razor move to my wrists
and flickers over previous scars
they pattern my wrists
and criss-cross like checkers
blood seeps out of the wounds
and becomes part of the water
the bath begins to turn red
as my world turns black
yet i feel no pain
sweet release
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